Spike: End Times
by Lady Tragic
Summary: One hundred years after BtVS, the world is dying a slow death... and there's no one left to stop it but Spike.


A/N: So I'm writing a weird post- (or maybe mid-) apocalyptic Buffy fic. Eventually, it will have Spike/Drusilla. Some Angel action later on too. It's probably a faux pas to introduce an OC with a page-long monologue, but whatever. She said she wanted to narrate. Promise this will be the only _long_ speech from her.

_------------_

**Prologue**

**------------**

_The year is 2103, but most humans stopped counting a while ago. Things are pretty bad, and you're probably wondering how they got that way. Demons have free run over most of the world. Chunks of entire continents are burning, and what 'civilization' there still is exists at the sufferance of Wolfram & Hart. Why? It's simple._

_The Good Guys screwed up. I mean, didn't anyone ever wonder _why_ there was only one Slayer? It sure as hell wasn't to give us a fighting chance. But no. It apparently didn't occur to anyone that there might be a damn good reason for the status quo, and about a century ago it got fucked up. See, this hotshot witch named Rosenburg, she casts a spell that takes all the girls who were in line to be Slayer when the current one kicked it, and makes them Slayers too. Big mistake._

_It spent the spell. Drained up all the magic that made Slayers _Slayers_. So after that, no more Potentials were born. And for a while, things are all warm and cozy for the pulsers, what with all those Slayer's looking after them, but one by one, they all died off. Even with strength in numbers, Slayers didn't have a real long life expectancy. They say Buffy Summers, the original Slayer who started the whole thing, was the last to go. Dunno if it's true, but I like to think it is. Kinda poetic._

_But so, no more Slayers, and now it's only a matter of time before someone does something stupid and fucks the world over. Regular demon hunters can only do so much, y'know? I dunno how it finally happened- I heard a story about some ancient Key and a girl, don't think anyone knows the whole story anymore- but somehow, someone ripped a big fat hole between here and Hell, and it's been the End Times ever since. That was something close to sixty years ago. Slow, ugly death._

_If there's anyone who's been screwed the most by this, I think it's us. The vamps. Our favorite food is holed up in fortresses protected by witches and Watchers, and the rest of the demon world ranks us just above the rats we're living off of. And y'know, the world's been ending for over half a century, and _still_ nothing has managed to block out the sun. God, that's world-class irony. The death of the vampire Slayers was the worst thing ever to happen to vampires. You're a scream, world._

_I'm writing this in case there's something after the End Times. How's that for unwarranted optimism? It's just… someone ought to keep a record, and I need a hobby to keep from going as mad as Mom._

_-Sunny_

_-------------_

Spike was reasonably certain he had a concussion.

"Silly William should know better, tangling with a Hr'yk demon alone." A pause. "Perhaps the butterflies made him do it."

Definitely a concussion. Last thing he remembered was flying through the air and hitting something hard. And now he imagined he was hearing Dru, so there had probably been brain damage involved. Thank god there was nothing blood couldn't fix, provided he could catch a suitably unlucky creature.

Then suddenly, the scent of blood was under his nose, and something cool and smooth touched his lips. Spike opened his eyes to see pale, delicate hands clutching a cracked teacup filled with blood. His gaze followed the hands up to their owner, and he lurched back violently, nearly knocking the cup from her hands.

"Mustn't spill! Naughty boys are taken to the woodshed for such clumsiness." Drusilla chided, holding the treasured blood close to her chest with a reproachful glare. She didn't look like he remembered, which was what convinced Spike that she was real. She was thinner, (as all vampires were these days) and her dark hair hung unkempt around her face. She wore a stained white blouse and torn dark pants, and she eyed him warily. _Sure sign the world is ending- Drusilla isn't wearing a dress._

They were in an abandoned building of some kind, something industrial by the look of it, and from the belongings strewn around and nest-like pile of fabric in one corner, Drusilla had been here for some time. But what really caught his eye was the halo of sunlight peeking around the edges of a covered window. He'd been unconscious a long time. If Dru hadn't brought him here, he'd be dead.

"We wanted to see if you'd fade away at dawn with all the other moonbeams," said Drusilla, who had followed his gaze to the window, and guessed his thoughts. "Miss Edith said we'd dreamed you out of a storybook, but I told her it wasn't so. Pixie dust does not smell of blood. Well, usually…" her misty voice trailed off. Closest thing to an explanation one could expect from her. "Besides, Miss Sunshine would have told us if you were starstuff. She wouldn't have been able to see you."

Miss Sunshine? One of her dolls, he expected. Probably second cousin to Miss Edith or some rot. Quite frankly he was surprised the thing had made it this far. Suddenly, he had a thought. "Drusilla, do you know who I am?"

It wouldn't surprise him if she'd forgotten, knowing her, even if she had called him William before. He found he couldn't muster any anger at her, no matter their past history, only a mild comfort from finding a familiar face of any kind. Since he was stuck here until nightfall, he hoped she felt similarly non-hostile. She gave him a look that said she thought he might be crazy, which was funny coming from her. "You're Spike, don't you remember? You used to be my prince…" Her eyes glazed over, looking elsewhere, then refocused. She set the teacup down on the floor between them. "You'll help me find Miss Sunshine. She's gone missing."

"Right." Playing along. There was something he was used to. He took the teacup and stood, surveying the mess around him. There were a lot of books, which struck him as unusual for Dru, "I'm sure she's around here someplace, Dru, we'll find her…"

"No!" Drusilla cried. "She isn't here, Spike. Sunshine wandered off to look for secrets outside. But she was not back by the appointed hour, and I'm afraid she's turned into a pumpkin."

"If she's outside Dru, then we can't do anything until sunset. You know that." Then, before he could think the better of it, he continued, "What was Miss Sunshine looking for, then?"

It had just slipped out, and he fully expected the response to be something ridiculous. But Drusilla appeared to consider her response very seriously. "Secrets," she whispered earnestly. "Things people have forgotten. Things to stop the world ending."

Spike blinked at her. "An' you want that?"

"We want to turn over the tea leaves, Spike," she told him somberly. "We dislike what the stars are singing. It hurts our ears, and we wish to change their tune.

"Why do you _care? _Last I knew, you were more than happy to see the world end." It was true. If he had thought about it at all, he would have expected her to be thrilled about the end of days, no matter how unpleasantly they had turned out. Then he looked at her.

Something had changed. There was something sharp and bright shining in her eyes, and for the first time he could recall, he had the profound sense that she was _here,_ not some ethereal glittering ghost that might disappear at any moment. Today, at least, someone was looking back from behind her mad, glassy eyes.

"Because if the world ends, we shall miss our tea party, and that would make Miss Edith _very_ unhappy. Ladies must mind their social obligations," she said. No, make that- she _snapped. _It was as impatient as he'd ever heard her sing-song voice. Then her face softened, and she smiled foolishly. She sashayed over and patted him on the cheek. "Don't worry, Spike. Sunshine will find me. She always does. She'll explain."

----------


End file.
